


Rise With The Sea

by hcrlaws



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Minor Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen, angst from both pairings, if the long night was actually long, sansa and daenerys will become .. somewhat friends, set during s8, sibling bonds, slowburn, the dead cannot swim !! yara literally went back to the islands for dany and i will use that !!, when i say slowburn i MEAN slowburn, yara is not a fan of jon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:20:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26165524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hcrlaws/pseuds/hcrlaws
Summary: When Winterfell is sworming with the dead and they are unable to hold them off any longer, they decide to run to somewhere safe and a little stormy.An abandoned attraction is lit once more between two queens, and two damaged souls find themselves relying on each other more than before.
Relationships: Theon Greyjoy/Sansa Stark, Yara Greyjoy/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 18
Kudos: 47





	1. THEON I

**Author's Note:**

> i don't know how to describe this story other than i am still angry about danyara queerbaiting, about theonsa's ending and about the lack of use of knowledge that the dead cannot swim. so i decided to write something about it ! 
> 
> this is my first written canon fic since 2019 .. so apologies if my writing is a little rusty for the first couple of chapters.
> 
> i hope you all enjoy !

It was practically silent in the godswood until the screams of terror, the ripping of skin and twisting of bodies began further into the woods separating them from the yard of Winterfell, castle now reclaimed by the Starks. They heard the thud of bodies hitting the snow as the dead dropped their carcuses and continued their way — running now, sprinting, to meet the Ironborn alone in the godswood. 

Theon felt his heart aching out for the young Alys Karstark that he had only met a handful of times, dropping his head in a bow; a pray, to the Old Gods of the weirwood tree to take care of her and her men, and make sure she got herself  _ home. _

He wondered if he was going to make it home. Not back to Pyke where he had never truly felt accepted, nor to Winterfell where he currently stood, which had always felt like he was locked away in a cage — whether he was ward of Eddard Stark or prisoner of Ramsay Bolton, it made no matter. His home was with his sister; Yara. And for a moment he felt his heart clenching, wondering why he hadn’t held her embrace for longer when they split. 

There wasn’t much time to think - the dead split through the line of trees and right towards them, his sisters men at the ready at once, standing in position with bows, swords, dirks and axes. Yara had sent her best men with him — the ones that were willing to come with him at least after he earned their respect fighting off another of theirs in defence of Yara, and he just prayed that they were going to be enough. 

“Whatever you do men, do not let the dead anywhere near the Stark boy.” His voice was firm. For a moment he sounded like a true leader. A true Ironborn born of the sea.

The dead rush for them, screaming and reaching out with arms and teeth and weapons. The fire that lit the dragon glass arrows of Theon’s bow are quick to take multiple of them out, arrows and other weapons flying around at his head as he creeps further back till he’s directly in front of the boy in the wheelchair, his eyes rolled back till they are white. He still didn’t quite understand what this … three eyed raven business was, and why Bran wasn’t quite like the little boy that he had once seen at Winterfell, but he would protect him with his life if he had too. 

The sweat and the blood was sticking to him - his clothes, his hair, his skin. He reached for more arrows, and noticed the lack of, and that’s when he felt the true  _ fear  _ of what lay ahead. Death. Death for them all. For him, for his sisters men and for young Bran in his chair behind. For Daenerys and all of her armies, for the Northerners and for Jon, Arya and Sansa. Sansa was what hurt most of all. 

“There’s no more arrows!” One of the men cried out before a sword was pushed through his throat, the light leaving his fearful eyes there and then. Theon’s blood ran cold, and by the looks on the other men’s faces, theirs did too. 

The fight continued on with two more men dropping. Every moment just seemed like a step closer to death. The roaring of the dragons could be heard — Daenerys on one, Jon on the other and the Night King on the one that had fallen before any of this had even begun. He didn’t have time to look overhead and see how the fight above was going; more wights running at him every second as he proceeded to use a dragon glass spear to push them off. It was at that moment that Jon came down, crashing into the godswood on dragon back — screaming as the dragon let fire across the upcoming dead. 

“Run!”

Theon stared, shocked and bloody from a cut on his arm, blood soaking through the material of his tunic. “What-”

“We need to leave! Now, Greyjoy! Get your men and run!” 

“But … Bran-”

“I will fucking get Bran! Just don't be an idiot for once in your life, and RUN!”

He didn’t say no, knowing that Jon was done arguing over it. The men ran alongside and behind Theon, through the woods and dodging past bodies lying dead on the ground, wights running from all angles with red and blue dragon fire raging on around. Winterfell had never felt so cold and so warm, so dark yet so bright, all at the same time. 

More men dropped as they ran, noticing other people running for the gates of Winterfell through the back and sides and the front. It was just chaos at all angles — screaming as people were ripped apart by corpses and their screams were cut off by the blood flowing up their throats and out past their lips. It was at that moment that Theon stopped, eyes locking on the door of the Stark crypts.

“Sansa.”

_____________________

With every hit of his shoulder against the heavy door of the crypts, came more screams and the sound of the dead moving around within. His heart was pounding against his chest, hearing the shouts of terrified children and mothers and elderly inside. The few men that he still had left, pressed in against the door with him, ignoring the plees of the people on the outside with them, begging the gods for mercy and to allow them to live while the dead ripped them apart limb by limb.

“Push harder, men!” Theon shouted at them through the chaos, people running, screaming and dying all around them. Sansa could be inside those crypts right now being ripped apart by some dead Stark relative, and he was on the outside; helpless. 

The door caved, and the men pushed on through, holding it open as women and children scurried towards the steps — climbing over the dead bodies of children and their mothers and cripples and elderly that weren’t able to hide nor defend themselves. Theon’s throat closed up, bile rising as he looked around the masacre scared to see a certain face in amongst them.

“Sansa!” He cried out, eyes wild, sweat dripping from his curls and into his eyes and down his face, mixing with the blood and mug from the outside. His gloved hands still gripped the length of the spear in front of him, pushing it through the rotten bodies of the dead as they screamed and wriggled their way towards him; hoping for an easy person to take down. His limbs were burning, blood pulsing in his ears and his head thumping as he looked through the small closed space and tried to not focus on the open graves that surrounded, nor the people that were crawling out of them. He didn’t want to look at an open grave of anyone he happened to once know or remember learning about.

Red splattered against his cheeks and across his nose as a young woman was butchered right in front of his eyes, mouth gaping and body completely frozen as he watched the corpse ripping her apart while she still gasped for life on the floor, surrounded by other bodies. She reached a hand out, begging him, and his fingers brushed against hers just for a moment before her arm went completely limp and her eyes fluttered closed; accepting fate. 

“Theon!” 

He turned to see another wight coming at him from behind, hands reaching out to clasp around his throat and stop the air from getting into his lungs. Eyes wide and about to yell out. Theon watched as the wight suddenly stopped, its boney and rotten fleshed hands falling from his throat as its body dropped to the floor finally dead. His eyes searched upwards after getting over his shock — Tully blue meeting his storm coloured green mixed with ocean blue. Neither of them could speak as they locked eyes, and then locked their arms around one another once she threw herself at him, his face buried into her neck and her head buried into his chest though she had to bend a little. 

A breath of relief. Home.

“Sansa.” Voice soft as a mutter against the soft skin of her neck, he nuzzled in against her wanting to be closer.

“Theon… You came…” There was a sniffle from her, hands fisting at the blooded clothing he was wearing. Her black dress and cloak was coated with blood as well.

His head lifts finally, gripping her tight and taking her hand into his. “We need to leave. Now.”

“My people-” 

“Will follow. They will follow you anywhere, Sansa. We  **need** to go or we will  **die.** ”

With a sharp nod, she gave his squeeze a tight squeeze, letting him know she was there, and she was following behind him. She turned over her shoulder to the people of the North, calling for them to follow behind and how the men would protect them from the dead. A nudge of his own head and his men did as they were commanded, pushing through with weapons and cutting down the Stark dead while they went, pushing to get to the defenseless people. 

Up front Theon watched as Missandei led Gilly and her small child out of the crypts and through — where some of the Unsullied were waiting for them at the top of the descending staircase. Tyrion was standing there, also waiting after making his own escape.

Theon wrapped an arm around Sansa while guiding her out to the top, peaking around to see that the yard was still in complete chaos of the dead sworming, people crawling through the dirt to try and escape their claws. Theon tightened his grip on Sansa, and ducked them through an opening, shouting for people to follow behind them as he still gripped his weapon - slicing through anything dead that came in their way. 

The shouts were heard from Daenerys Targaryen as she called to her armies; the Dothraki and the Unsullied, and called for them to fall back, to retreat and run. He had only known Daenerys for just over a year, and he knew that she would be frustrated with this loss of battle. With this failure and the amount of lives cost.

Guiding his own line of people out; highborn and lowborn, ironborn and Northern, the wildling Gilly and her babe, Tyrion Lannister following alongside Missandei of Naath — he guided them all, out of the gates of Winterfell and out towards the biting cold with the clothes only on their backs, cloaks wrapped tightly around them. 

_____________________

They had found everyone who had managed to make it out a few leagues away from the walls of Winterfell, and all of those who made it struggled through the snow and the cold, huddled together as close as they could be and looked for some sort of shelter. 

Theon and Sansa still gripped each other by the hand - pushing through behind Arya who was pushing the wheelchair of young Bran. Daenerys and Jon loomed overhead on the dragons, everyone defeated from the big defeat that was Winterfell, of their lost loved ones that they had to leave behind, destined to be risen from the dead by the Night King like all the others. 

They stopped days later at an abandoned hold, everyone tight into the small castle while some stayed outside to take watch. Theon was huddled against the wall, his own cloak taken off and used as a makeshift blanket for him and Sansa who lay shivering against him, head resting on his shoulder. Although his cloak was not the thickest of materials — covered in blood and mud and soaked through by the snow, it was all they had to offer at the moment till they found anything else. 

“Theon?” She whispered out into the dead silence of the dark night, snores heard around them from those who managed to find themselves calm enough to close their eyes and sleep. Everyone else sat in silence, not even wanting to breathe too loudly. 

“Yes?”

“This is just…” She stopped for a moment as she coughed. “Just like when we jumped off the walls of Winterfell before… both of us huddled for warmth from each other in the cold… I’d be happy dying here. This time. Because I’m with you and I’ll die safe.”

His heart almost stopped at her words, head whipping around to look at her, eyes casted down at where she lay against his shoulder, staring up at the ceiling. A small shake of his head, arms coming tight around her body and holding her closer while he listened to the chattering of her teeth, lips slightly blue. “Never say that… Never speak about dying, Sansa Stark. Not here, not now. You will die an old lady, warm in her bed with grandchildren and children who love you.” 

She shivered against him but spoke no further, head turning to bury into the warmth of his neck, and for a moment, Theon felt the exhaustion hitting him, eyes fluttering closed with his head still thumping from the shouts and screams. 

“Dead upon us!!” A call came from the men outside, and people gasped, groaned and quickly moved into action to get themselves out the hold and away from it as far and as fast as possible, which proved not easy with the amount of people they had with them. Dead swormed those lagging behind as Theon made it out with Sansa clutched at his side, Gilly hot on his heels with Samwell Tarly and little Sam. 

It felt like weeks before they managed to find another place to take a longer stop, less and less of their people making it the long distance across the North and towards White Harbour. Daenerys now walked alongside them, allowing Drogon to fly on his own without the added weight of herself on top of him. She let out a huff as she came to walk alongside Theon on the opposite side of where Sansa walked. 

“We could walk and walk and walk for miles, and we could talk cover in any of these Northern castles, and the dead would still find us. As they do, every other time.”

“They have to turn back soon, your grace. Surely they will get bored or …”

“They will not get bored of chasing after that hunger, after that feeling that the Night King leads them for. And he will follow just as closely behind soon. I’m sure of it, Lord Greyjoy. What we need…” She stops herself dead, violet eyes dancing around in thought before muttering to herself, “is to get across the sea.” 

He stopped and turned to look at her, watching the smile coming across her face as she bound to him, grasping his arms tight in her grip as she tilted her head slightly to be able to look up at him. “We need to go to your sister, Theon! To Yara! That’s why she went, remember? You said! To take them back in my name from your uncle, and for somewhere for us to run! Because the dead cannot swim.”

Blinking at the young queen, he took a moment to process what she was saying as Jon came to join them, a gentle hand laying on Daenerys shoulder as she didn’t break eye contact with Theon. Sansa gripped at his hand, looking up at him almost  _ hopeful. _

“The dead… cannot swim.” 

Daenerys nodded. “We must go to Yara. To the Iron Islands.”


	2. DAENERYS I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it was a long journey to the iron islands but they finally made it. reunion between brother and sister, and queen and queen. daenerys is just happy to feel a little free again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> after a long week of classes returning, i'm glad to be able to provide you all a new chapter. 
> 
> this is the first time i've ever written from dany's pov, and i hope i did her some justice and didn't stray too much. enjoy !

The sea stretched on for miles between White Harbour and the Iron Islands. With a deep breath in, she felt the sudden sense of freedom. Drogon roared from underneath her, and Daenerys felt a light giggle escaping past her lips before she was able to stop it from happening. 

Peeking behind her, Jon followed closely on the back of her other child, gloved hands gripping the dragon’s horns with all of his might, afraid to loosen them and plummet into the waves and to his death. With her sudden sense of freedom — from the dead that walks, from the approaching war with Cersei Lannister, from the suffocation of the Northerners that didn’t accept her. She found herself guiding Drogon to drop lower towards the raging waves. Her hand skiffed across the water, a grin of delight coming across her lips as the salt water spray came across her face, Drogon letting out a huff in reply and flying higher up towards the sky once more.

Something she did pick up on, was that Yara smelled just like the salt water spray that hit her skin.There was something comforting about that thought — that soon she would be smelling that exact smell on her good friend, ironborn child born from these very waves. Yara and the sea were one.

The dragons flew in pace with the ships following along behind; captained by Theon Greyjoy, determined to get everyone safely across the slight comings of a storm and towards the rocky home he was born from. Dots started to appear far in the distance as Daenerys let out a gasp, leaning forward as far as the dragon's body would allow her, staring with wonderment at the approaching world she had never seen nor heard much about. There was a whole new place, with a whole new culture and ideals and people for her to get to know — and it was exciting. 

“Look, Jon! We’re close now!” She points with her finger, sending a smile in the man's direction as he attempts to offer one back, but Jon was further out of his comfort zone than he would be likely to admit, about to walk into a whole new place with people who aren’t so fond of people from the mainland. He tried to be optimistic for her sake, which she was grateful for, as he knew how happy she was to be heading to safety with one of her only lasting allies. No matter how much he was in distaste at the thought of not just one Greyjoy, but two.

Daenerys had been back home in the seven kingdoms for little over 5 months, and yet she was about to step into a whole new world and experience that thrill all over again with Jon and Yara at her side.

______________________

The Iron Islands indeed were just a pile of rocks, but what a marvelous pile of rocks they were. The seven main isles all sat scattered — some larger than others, some rougher looking than others. All of them fascinations to the Mother of Dragons, her head rested against the top of Drogon as she watched the waves pass by with tall towers located close to cliff faces. Marginalised from the rest of Westeros, the Iron Islands sat alone and rough in the Sunset Sea, south of the North where they had just travelled long from. 

Ships were far out at sea, crews coming over to the sides to watch in wonder as the dragons went flying past with great roars from their hot breaths. But Daenerys knew which island was Pyke as soon as she laid eyes on it — not as large as the other island they had sailed and flew past, but still mighty with its four tall towers connected by bridges. Pyke was just as dull as Yara had described it once being to her over a shared tankard of Dornish wine. Rocks piled on top of rocks, a small port where ships were able to come and go from. 

She did notice the gathering crowd coming from all directions towards the docks as the ships were pulled in and the dragons descended down and landed with sharp claws, rocks crumbling underneath their grip. The Ironfolk gasped out at the sheer size of the dragons in front of them, taking a couple of steps back to not be suddenly caught up in the jaws of one of her beasts — mothers grabbing their children and hiding them behind their skirts, drunken men stumbling but still managing to hold their drinks in their grasps. She was used to seeing that reaction from people. 

One person had not stepped back in fright at the beasts, but had taken steps forward, pride in her chest and in her posture as she strides over towards Daenerys as she had once strode into her throne room in Meereen. “Your grace.” She bows low, but the sneaky grin never leaves her lips as she holds out a hand to her.

“Yara…” A breath of relief. She hadn’t seen her iron friend since she had suddenly taken off from the dragon rock and to the seas towards Dorne with her, now lost, Dornish allies. She still remembered the ringing in her ear as Theon begged for her help in getting Yara back from the clutches of their usurper uncle.  _ And I had refused.  _ She thought.

Her hand slid into the rough used ones, chafed with ropes and the clutches of swords and the dirk that sat strapped against her hip. Her body slid off the top of Drogon, who bent his head down to allow his mother a softer landing. Her feet touched the rocks, solid underneath her feet, the slight rumble of thunder miles away from them, threatening to close in and rain down across the rocky isles. This was winter in the Iron Islands - no snow like the North, but rain and storms and ice forming on the cliff faces and nearby rocks, easy to slip on and crack your head against. This is the home of the Ironmen, of rapists and savages and everything else she had heard in the few stories she had heard. But most of all, it was the home of Yara, her ruling land, her people, all of who watched Daenerys and the company behind her with interest and mummers. 

“You are safe now, Daenerys. No dead are walking across the sea to get you here.” Yara strikes a jab with her, hand still gripping hers as she guides her around to where Jon was waiting with a solen face.    


Her arms wrapped around her friend before she could stop herself, face buried into the boiled leather of her amour, engraved with the fierce kraken of House Greyjoy across her chest. Yara stood awkward and tense for a moment, before her arms came around her, her free hand gently patting her on the back. “You’re alright, Dany. Safe.”

“I’m so sorry.” It came out as a mumble against her armour as she pulled back, gripping the Iron Queen by both of her hands now, eyes never leaving hers. “I should have sent the Unsullied to come and rescue you with Theon- I was selfish and I left you with your horrendous uncle and now I come here, seeking shelter from you when I do not deserve it. I hope you can forgive me.” 

A shake of the head, a small scoff escaping past her laughter. “Don’t be fucking ridiculous. There’s nothing to forgive.” She gave a slight smile, as much as she was willing to give of a real one, and turned to get a look at Jon. Lips pursed, eyes shifting up and down his body. “Who’s this glowery cunt then?”

“Yara, this is Jon Snow. Warden of the North, former Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. Jon, this is Yara Greyjoy, Lady of Pyke, Lady of the Iron Islands and Captain of The Black Wind.” 

If Yara wanted to comment on the change of title from King in the North to Warden, she kept her lips tightly locked and offered a nod of recognition instead, which Jon returned before turning to help his sisters off the docked ships, multiple men carrying the wheelchair that held Bran Stark. Although she hadn’t spoken of it, Daenerys could see the turning up of the right corner of her lips, threatening to release a smirk in typical Yara fashion.

“As you can tell, Yara. We’ve all had a really rough and long journey to get to you-” 

“My brother?” She was straight to the point of asking.

“See for yourself.” 

Violet eyes and stormy eyes turned to watch the young man helping the redhead walk down the gangplank that connected the ship to the port. Sansa’s hand did not let up, gripping tightly as her legs slightly shook until she was touching solid ground once more. When her gaze lifted, she looked at the island with an emotionless gaze, her free hand holding up her skirts to not allow them to graze against the dirt and mud that covered the ground. She looked displeased by their current scenery, a very bland and rough place compared the snow covered North of her home, known for loyalty and honour, two very lacking traits when it came to the Ironmen — but when her eyes met Theon’s again, a shy smile came across her lips as she pressed in closer to him. That was until Yara took strides over to them, grabbing the attention of Theon as she pulled him from the redhead and scooped her younger brother into her arms, practically crushing him in her embrace. 

“You’re a fool. A fucking fool, Theon Greyjoy.” She muttered into his ear, pulling back to give him a shove on the shoulder, finger pointed in his face. “Do not ever do that to my poor wee heart again, ye’ve all I’ve got left. We’ve not got father, or mother, or Rodrik and Maron. We barely have any fucking uncles left. We only have each other. Do ye understand me?” The slightly afraid and confused man offered a nod in reply before being crushed in his sister's arms once more. 

Once the two broke it off, noticing the stares of others watching the emotional reunion and confusion affection shown from their lady, Yara cleared her throat, offering a punch on the arm once more to her brother before turning with a bright grin and pointing up the rocky hill. 

“Shall we get ourselves tucked in then?”

__________________________

The chambers offered to Daenerys were large and as luxurious as things were going to get for the Iron Islands - but she was not going to turn her nose up at the sight of a large bed covered in warm furs to keep her through the storms of the seas. Nor would she refuse a hot bath after a long journey after battle, still with blood crusted in her hair and on her clothes.

Sinking into the tub, her muscles relaxed as she let out a sigh, eyes fluttering shut as she enjoyed the sounds of the waves hitting against the rock face down on the beach, high and strong, like Yara.

A knock on the door and the soft voice of her advisor Missandei, came through the thin wood. “Your grace? Jon Snow is here and requests to see you.”

She didn't move from where she lay in the bath, humming slightly in approval. “It’s alright, let him in.”

He arrived around the corner from where the bed lay in the middle of the room, brushing his fingertips against the furs as his eyes glanced around the large room, hardly noticing the naked woman laying in the steaming tub. Blowing some dust off of the bookshelf, he finally strides over to her with a sort of lazy smile. “Your chambers are far nicer than mine. I’m sharing with Bran and Tormund.” Kneeling down beside her, he brings his fingers through her tied back hair, brushing a loose strand behind her ear. “You seem to get special treatment here more than you did in Winterfell,  _ your grace.” _ He teased. 

“I’m Yara’s closest friend, and rightful Queen of the seven kingdoms. Of course I don’t have to share- though I have asked Missandei to share with me.” She sits herself up a little, breasts exposed to his eyes. “So that means… no trying to sneak into my bed, Lord Snow.”

“I’m surprised Lady Greyjoy isn’t standing like a rabid dog outside of your room after the looks she was giving me the whole way up.” 

Dany quirked her eyebrow at him, her hand reaching out to take hold of his large one, fingers lacing together as she brings his fingertips up to her lips and presses kisses to the tips of them. “Are you jealous, Jon Snow? Yara is no competition.”

“I feel like she is. That- embrace out there…”

“Was between two friends, two allies who haven’t seen each other in months, Jon. Yara Greyjoy is my friend, and my ally. She brought me over to Westeros from Meereen with her fleet. YOU are my lover, not her.”

His gaze was cast down, a slight nod of his head. “I’m being silly… it’s not like you’ve taken her to bed or anything.”

_ A rough and desperate kiss between two soft sets of lips, hands sliding across scars and into dirty sand salty hair. A thigh pressed between her own.  _ “No. I’ve never slept with Yara. You have nothing to worry about, just an innocent teasing crush is all she had. Yara doesn’t have serious relationships. I’m not sure she even knows how to love at all.” There was a slight bite in her tone as she muttered those words to the open air more than Jon.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kudos, comments, bookmarks, subscriptions etc are always welcome and appreciated.
> 
> updating: every weekend.


	3. YARA I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Perhaps the kraken's daughter had taken her feelings of jealousy and wrath a little too far. And perhaps now it had set a barrier between her and Daenerys that she had never wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> back again with another person's pov. i am only sticking with the 4 povs for this fic (theon, yara, dany and sansa) but let me know if you want a sansa pov next or would rather see someone else again ! 
> 
> i'm not so confident with how this chapter turned out but i wanted to give you guys something anyway and keep to the schedule. enjoy !

She stared into the contents of her mug, hand curled tightly around the handle with knuckles turned white in her iron grip. The murky brown ale that lay in the bottom, leaving a sour taste against her tongue as sour as the feeling in her heart as she watched the lovers down the table from where she sat at the head, her brother on the right of her, her uncle on the left. 

Love makes you weak, is how the young and only daughter born from Balon Greyjoy’s loins saw the current situation before her eyes. Daenerys was currently giggling and leaning into the white wolf, and as Yara took another long gulp of the sour ale, she couldn’t help wishing that Daenerys was giggling drunkenly and all over her like that, as she had once been those nights on sea and then on her home of Dragonstone.

With the hundreds of men around her from all over the islands and from all over the seven kingdoms, the kraken’s daughter's eyes were locked completely on the dragon queen, who was now locking those violet eyes back on her. Was it some sort of game between them that they were playing? Daenerys seemed to think so, as she pressed herself more into the side of Jon Snow and used her finger to turn his head into an embracing kiss between them. The sight made Yara feel nauseous — but she did not move from the table, as she would not show defeat and let Daenerys know she was in fact, jealous.    


She was not someone to settle down, and she never had been. She made that point across clear when she first crawled into the tangled sheets with the young Targaryen queen. Boundaries were set before tongues even met and she had left for Dorne with Daenerys other allies as fast as her legs could carry her as soon as she even felt the slightest flutter of heart when her gaze landed on the queen. Her father had favoured her because she was not weak like Theon, nor was she a drunken lustful fool like her eldest deceased brother, Rodrik. She was strong and powerful and she had shown strength despite being a woman, because her mother had always told her to keep her chin up, head held high and to never let anyone be her weakness. Women on the Iron Islands were either mothers and wives, obeying their husbands every word, or they had to work for the respect they wanted. Alannys Harlaw had done it — before her belly had rounded with the first of her four children, and Yara had grown up doing the same.

Daenerys Targaryen was not going to be allowed to be that weakness for her, no matter how much she still wished it was her name that was coming in soft whines and later screams of pleasure from the dragon. A distraction was all she was needing — which is why she gulped down the remains in the bottom of her mug, slamming it down on the wooden table with a nod to everyone, taking the hand of one of the serving girls towards her chambers for a good shag. 

Daenerys' eyes followed her the whole way out of the great hall until she was no longer in eye sight.

________________________________

Her eyes were still heavy with exhaustion the following morning as she made her rounds through the castle, talking to fellow lords about issues they had with other lords, talking about the fixing of the castle and the bridges that linked between the towers to other towers, about the food that they’d need to get ported in, the amount of men that would need to go out and fish for anything they could catch from the waters … under all the pressure she had in a short few months, she understood why her father had been so down and glum all of the time. 

After a night of tumbling around with one of the serving girls, trying to scratch that itch that was inside of her, she didn’t feel anymore satisfied than she had the previous night, glaring over the edge of her mug of ale. Yara instead felt even more frustrated and on the path to committing a murder to whatever person next nagged away in her ears about some stupid animals that they had on their lands. It was not her problem that the islands were so infertile, nor was there anything she could do to solve the issue. They lived on rocks, for fuck sake. 

Travelling outside is where she found Jon Snow, surrounded by a bunch of men from the night's watch and men from beyond the wall; wildlings, they were called. Savages just like the ironborn and the dothraki from across the sea. All of them with swords and axes and other weapons she had never laid her eyes upon before in hand, standing in pairs or small groups while Jon made his rounds, snapping orders at them.

“Training for when the dead get their sea legs?” She leaned her back against the wall, arms crossed over her chest with that familiar smirk painted across her lips. From the tension that suddenly raised in his shoulders — she knew he was hoping to avoid conversation with her at all during their stay. 

“Keeping the men well trained is the best way of doing it, can’t have them getting lazy and suddenly not knowing how to swing an axe when one of those-  _ things  _ are running right at them.” He had the most dead tone voices Yara had ever heard in a man — and that included her father and her uncle Aeron. She had to stop herself from sniggering at the thought while pushing herself off the wall to join him. 

“Unless they suddenly can walk on fucking water, I doubt your men need any more training than the basic practising. You’re safe here. No dead risen man is going to sink their teeth into you quite yet unfortunately,” She laughed at the look on his face. “I’m just joking with you. You northerners really do have the worst sense of humour.”

He didn’t respond, giving a small grumble as his voiced opinion.

“If you’re so desperate to have a sword in your hand, then fight me.” 

As low as Yara had thought her voice had been, every one of the men in the training yard seemed to have heard her offer towards their King, or Lord, or whatever Jon Snow was to them. Every man’s eyes were now locked on the two of them, disbelief and shock written across their ugly faces. But she did not show stutter. She did not back down from the opportunity to swing a sword right at the head of one of the supposed best sword fighters in the seven kingdoms — if the stories she had heard were true. Jon himself was looking at her with wide eyes and an open mouth, gapping a little like a fish that was brought up onto a deck of a fisher's boat, gasping for the water that it would never see again. 

“Well?” She questioned again, eyebrows raised. 

“I cannot fight you,” He shakes his head, glancing around the men behind him. “It would hardly be a fair match-”

“Because I don’t have a massive cock hanging between my legs?” Yara scoffed a little at the attempt. “Please, I’ve got a bigger imaginary cock than any of those men standing behind you. At least I’d have you breaking a sweat,” She took a step forward, ignoring the smirks and chuckles of the ironborn companions of Qarl the maid and Tristifer Botley behind her. “Or are you scared to lose your manhood to a woman? A  _ savage, dirty, ironborn _ woman at that?”

Jon didn’t seem to know what to say. He had to know she was now attempting to anger him and frustrate him enough into agreeing to the fight. Eyes drifted down to her waist, pointing his gloved hand towards her side. “Would hardly be fair for me to be fighting a valyrian sword against a small axe.” 

Unstrapping her belt, she dropped the boiled leather to the ground, the sound of the dirk dropping into the mud. Qarl quickly scattered forward to get hold of it, holding her husband close to his chest. “I won't fight with that, nor any of the daggers in my boots. Sword on sword, no cheating.”

“Hard for me to believe the ironborn when they say no cheating, your brother was practically known for cheating when it came to sword training.”

Yara gestured to her chest. “Do I look like Theon to you?” If anyone was going to make comments on the lack of penis between the both of them, no one was brave enough to say it outloud.

With a deep breath, Jon turned to look at the large redhead with the matching beard who stood now just behind him at his right hand side. The two shared a look, before the bigger fellow gave a nod of his head, flashing broken teeth in the direction of Yara. “He’ll fight ye.”

“What I like to hear,” She turns to the nearest man, pointing a finger at him. “Oi you! Aye, go fetch my father’s sword.” She did not have the time to try and remember the man’s name before he was off running to do as his queen demanded. At the same time, Jon was taking off his long cloak, handing it off to another man and taking his sword in hand — valyrian steel, just as he had said. One slice of that and her head would come straight off.

Her father’s sword was in hand moments later, still as sharp as she remembered it as a young lass, back before her father had his arse permanently glued to the seastone chair. It wasn’t as shiny or as sharp, nor as big as the one in Jon Snow’s hand, but it would do enough. She hardly had the moment to register before he came at her, swinging that large sword down against the one in her grip, and with a smirk she remembered her own mother’s words while she watched a young Yara train hard with Balon.  _ Never be the first one to swing. It means you’ll be the first to lose. _

Steel met steel, loud sounds raged across the yard and through the castle walls, and Yara ignored the shouts of others and the rushing of feet as people came to the yard to see what was going on. Within minutes, she could already feel the sweet stickiness of the sweat forming down her back underneath her armour, causing the boiled leather to slightly bite into her skin in the places it was not protected by her tunic underneath. Every swing brought a new rush of pleasure through her veins and through her bones, and there was a slight sparkle in the grey eyes of Jon Snow as he watched her keeping pace with him — almost impressed by her speed and ability.

Neither let up on the other, constantly bouncing their swords together and catching quick hits at the other — nothing too serious that called for a maester, but certainly some bruising and some cuts. Enough to show there had been something for this, something worth the sweat and the energy being drained from their bodies. Men called her name, others called for Jon’s name, and she was sure she even heard her own brother shouting her name, which swelled her chest with more confidence than she’d ever let him know of. 

Half of the population of the castle and the surrounding homes were watching on from the windows or physically down on the ground, up on tip toes trying to watch over the crowd of others. For a moment Yara wondered if Daenerys herself was somewhere in that crowd — and if she was cheering on for her or for the man that currently shared her bed when Missandei wasn’t around. She found herself growing bitter, because she already knew the answer to that.

It was in that moment that the sword met the skin of her cheek, a perfect slice right along as Jon’s leg went behind her knee and laid her flat on her back, the taste of blood flowing from the cut and to her lips. Her tongue met the salty taste, panting with her hair that had previously been pinned back in her normal style, now fell out and sticking to her face with sweat.

She had not felt so alive in such a long time. 

The northern bastard was over her, sword pointed at her throat, tip pressed against her skin, causing a small nick. She didn’t move, and suddenly the crowd was dead silent — wondering if it was over. Her men let out huffs and groans, shaking their heads in disappointment at her defeat against a greenlander of all people. 

“Does she moan that soft, whiny way that she used to do with me? Have ye tasted her cunt on your tongue yet, Snow?” Her voice was hushed, only he could hear, and his eyes widened at her words, drawing the sword back enough for her leg to catch him off guard and have him on his back, foot against her chest with her father’s blade right before his eye. 

She smirked. “I win.”

________________________________

A hiss came from between her clenched teeth every time he pressed the cloth material against the weeping cut on her cheek, shaking his head at her as she side-eyed him with a small scowl on her face. “Don’t shake your head in disappointment at me, you fought in Robb Stark’s war against the Lannister’s, I’m sure you have a few beauties to show for it.”

“This is not the same as fighting in a war, Yara,” Theon shook his head, scoffing as he dipped the material back into the basin of discoloured water, pressing it to her cheek once more. “You went out there looking for trouble with Jon.”

“I just wanted to see if the stories were true.” She shrugged.

“So it wasn’t about the fact he’s fucking Daenerys then?” He raised an eyebrow, but all he got in response was another scowl and tight lips.

Knuckles rapped against the wooden door softly at first, almost timid, but grew more forceful and aggressive the longer they went ignored. Yara closed her eyes, grinding her teeth together. “What is it?” She called out, a bite in her tone. 

The door opened and a scowling Daenerys Targaryen showed on the other side of the hardwood. Both Yara and Theon went frigid, avoiding eye contact with the silvery queen as she stepped inside, posture still as straight and proper as it had ever been. Yara had never seen Daenerys angry — and certainly never been on the receiving end of that wrath, but she was sure to get an earful from the way she was looking at her. 

“Theon?” Her voice was soft towards him, offering a gentle smile. “Would you mind leaving me to have a … talk, with your sister for a moment? It shouldn’t take long.”

Theon glanced at Yara, about to ask for her permission before seeming to get a look from Dany, to which he grabbed Yara’s hand in his and held it up to hold the cloth against her cheek, quick enough to scramble out of the room, leaving the door open in his rush.

Neither woman spoke to the other first, silence carrying in the room. Daenerys soft feet moved towards the door, gripping it by the edge and slamming it shut behind her, causing Yara to almost jump out of the stool she was sat upon. 

“What the fuck did you think you were doing out there?” She hadn’t heard Daenerys cuss before, lips pressing together as she almost felt her head bowing down like a dog getting in trouble. “You got hurt! And for what reason? For a game? For … whatever it is that you think you’re playing with Jon? Did you want to humiliate him or make yourself feel big? What was it, Yara?” 

She brought the cloth from her cheek, holding it in her lap for a moment before her eyes finally met Dany’s, a small shrug of the shoulders. “He wanted to train, so I was helping him.” The cut on her cheek bit as she spoke. “What’s another scar anyway? Just adding another to the collect of nine I already have, but you knew that. Traced them with your tong-”

The other woman sent a glare her way at the last comment, ignoring it completely. Daenerys was pacing back and forth in the room, shaking her head at the older woman. “No, no. That was not just you ‘helping him’. What was it you whispered to him to get him off of you?” 

“Don’t know why you have to ask, by the look on your face when you came through the door you already seem to know. Did he ask you about it then?” 

She stopped dead in front of Yara, lips set in a frown and her eyebrows knitted together. Her hands were balled in fists by her sides. Yara was sure if Daenerys was a real dragon, like Drogon and Rhaegal and Viserion, she would have set her alight by now with the anger that came off her in waves. 

“You told me, Yara … you were the one who said there could never be anything but a good fuck between us. That was all it was supposed to be and now-”

“And now?” 

There was hope in her tone, and she couldn’t help it. She wanted to know there was something — that she hadn’t made it completely up and hadn’t been the only one feeling something every time they joined together. It had been real, and the closest to love that the kraken’s daughter had ever felt.

“And now I am with Jon. I love Jon, I’m in love with Jon. What we had- it’s over. It was over from the moment you sailed your ships from Dragonstone and left with Ellaria Sand and her daughters. You were the one who set the boundaries between us before our lips even touched for the first time, Yara.” She stepped forward, timid at first as her fingertips brushed against Yara’s and she took the cloth into her own grip, pressing it underneath the cut where some blood had begun to form again, wiping it away with her gentle touch.

“I wish it could have been you … but I’m not sure you know how to begin to open your heart up to someone.” She brought Yara’s hand up, holding the cloth in place as she turned and left as quickly as she came.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kudos, comments, bookmarks and subscriptions are always welcome and appreciated ! 
> 
> updates every weekend.

**Author's Note:**

> kudos, comments, bookmarks etc are always greatly appreciated !
> 
> i should be updating every weekend.


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